


clavus ad demendum

by cloverlady



Category: Bugsnax (Video Game)
Genre: Art, Gen, gossiping, i think they should be friends, included image is drawn by me!, manicures, self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverlady/pseuds/cloverlady
Summary: Floofty never cared much about personal hygiene. When Beffica notices, she takes matters into her own paws.Floofty enjoys it much more than they thought they would.
Relationships: Beffica Winklesnoot & Floofty Fizzlebean
Comments: 11
Kudos: 111





	clavus ad demendum

Floofty never cared much about personal grooming. They bathed if they smelled, they combed their fur when it got messy, they trimmed their claws when they noticed they'd become too long. But they never went out of their way. They didn't see the appeal in fussing and fretting over something that was just going to be mussed up all over again. It wasn’t any different than cleaning their desk, or doing the dishes. A chore.

They kept up with it on Snaktooth, or tried to. They washed down with a sponge and a pot of boiled water after the day had been hot and sweaty. They'd run their paw through their hair absentmindedly as they worked, picking out the tangles they found until it was smooth.

But in the excitement to arrive, they'd neglected to pack a claw trimmer.

So what, they thought, when they realized. They couldn't very well walk down to GrumpMart and buy a new one. They'd survive a while with long claws.

Floofty put it out of mind. Only recalling it when the tap-tap-tap of their paw on the desk sounded a little too loud, or when scratching an itch almost made them bleed.

They thought about biting them down, and that worked for a while. But it was unrefined, and their claws became jaggedly edged, or they bit too deep and had sore paws the rest of the day. And grump only knew how many unchecked microbes and undiscovered germs were making their way into Floofty's body. It wasn't the most prudent concern, but all the diseases on Snaktooth hadn't had a victim to infect in years, and, though Dr. Batternugget was capable enough, the nearest hospital lay across the sea.

"Eat somethin' good?" Triffany asked, looking across the research tent at them.

"Hm?"

Triffany laughed, "Paws in your mouth all the time. Jus' teasin, is all. Sorry, doc."

Floofty grumbled. They wondered how many of the others had begun to notice. It was time for a new plan.

They kept their eyes peeled, inspecting rocks they came across, throwing ones that were too brittle or too smooth over their shoulder. It was surprisingly difficult.

But they found one, a few feet from Beffica's hut. Circular, worn smooth by years of tumbling in the gravel, but abrasive enough to be suitable. And conveniently palm-sized.

Floofty felt primitive, holding the stone. This was what a cave-Grumpus would have done, thousands of years ago, when their claws became long for absence of hunting. Scraping their paws against a wayward stone to make them short, and sharp, and clean. Had they descended already to such devices?

Well, science was born of savagery. No intellect without ignorance. The first beakers and flasks had been flimsy clay hand-pots.

Floofty started with their index digit grinding the stone back and forth across it.

It... hurt. Not enough to make them stop, but enough to make them tense. Enough that they became aware of it. They furrowed their brow and continued. It was sloppy, and not ideal, but it got the job done. Their claw was getting shorter and slimmer, slowly but surely.

They focused on outside sensations, letting themself drift away from the discomfort. They noticed the stillness of the air today, the breeze small and fickle. They were leaning against Beffica's wall, and she was inside, under the window. They could hear something like the gentle rustle of paper, and whispering. Air falling away between pages. A held-in laugh. A smile. The wind kicked up for a moment and, when it receded, the noise was gone. And then-

"Uh, hi?"

Beffica was leaning out of her window.

"Beffica." Floofty said.

They paused momentarily, stone stopped mid-grind. There was a streak of whiteness on the rough surface now, where the friction had created dust. Beffica looked at them, at the stone in their hand, and sneered.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"What's it to you?"

"You're not trimming your claws, are you?"

Floofty shrugged, "I can depart, if it's bothersome."

Beffica was quiet, and Floofty watched her. They could hear the gears turning in her head, they thought.

"You know I have a claw trimmer, right?" Beffica asked.

She said it as if it was knowledge she'd shared with the whole island. Floofty had known no such thing.

"Really." they said.

Beffica nodded.

Floofty took one last glance at the stone. They pitched it, and turned toward Beffica's door.

The others would surely see. Nobody ever went into Beffica's hut for a good reason. But it would be quick. Perhaps, Floofty thought, they might even be concerned for her.

Beffica hopped away from the window and dug around under her cot. She pulled out a little plastic case and flipped open the lid. It seemed to contain all the essentials for hygienic grooming. A brush and comb, a roll of tusk-floss, pots and vials of unknown liquids and lotions and things of the like.

And soon, in her paw, the promised claw-trimmer. And a quality one at that. Bright green plastic covered the handles, of which there were two, with a spring in between. And the trimmer itself, two metal blades, curved in the middle so that a claw could be slotted into them. Sharp, shiny and precise. The kind of thing Floofty liked.

"Very kind of you to let me borrow it." Floofty remarked.

They were about to ask what Beffica wanted in return- for, surely, she would ask for something- but she scoffed.

"Borrow what? This baby doesn't leave my hut. If I loan it out, I'm never seeing it again. I'm not stupid."

On the contrary, Floofty thought, but was wise enough not to say.

Beffica unpacked something else. A file, a proper one, with a similar green handle. She set the whole assortment aside, and sat beside it on her cot. Then, she looked at Floofty expectantly. She patted the large, empty space she'd left.

Floofty went and took a seat beside her. When they held out their hand for the trimmer, Beffica moved as if to take it in her own.

Floofty pulled their paw to their chest. 

"I can trim my own claws." they said.

"You were grinding them down on a rock. Like, a second ago." Beffica said.

Floofty didn't move. Beffica sighed.

"Look, I'm like, an expert on this. Okay? I know what I'm doing. Just like you're an expert in gassy-astronomology or whatever you study."

"Gastroentomology."

"Yeah, yeah. Point is, I know how to trim a claw! And I'll trim yours, if you let me.”

They could refuse, and leave. They could go outside, scoop up the rock, and take it to their own hut. Perhaps, if they were going to turn to the others, they'd ask Snorpy if he had any kind of delicate hedge-trimmers in that toolbox of his. They could do an experiment in declawing, see how essential the dreaded things really were to survival.

Floofty held their paw out. Beffica took it.

She examined them for a moment, wincing a little at the sorry state they were in.

"I don't need a lecture." Floofty said, preemptively.

"You're getting one." Beffica said, "You need to take better care of these or your quick's gonna grow out."

Beffica tossed the claw trimmer aside, and grabbed the file.

"What are you doing?"

"Shaping," Beffica said.

"That won't be necessary. If you'd just-"

Beffica cut them off, "Oh, it's necessary. You cracked the keratin here, see? If I just cut it it's gonna be prone to breakage. That's how you get split claws!"

They knew their biology. What Beffica was saying checked out. Floofty grumbled at the possibility that she could be right about something.

"Make it quick." they said, though Beffica had already gotten to work.

Floofty didn't know what to do with the rest of themself. They'd never had a manicure before. The sensation of someone holding their paw and fussing with their claws was foreign, unfelt. It made them have to resist the urge to pull away.

"Relax," Beffica muttered, "you're so grumpin' uptight all the time."

Floofty couldn't tell if it was a suggestion or an instruction. They didn't know how they were supposed to relax. They looked away, preoccupying themselves with the pictures on the wall or the other implements in her box. It was strangely quiet. Much quieter than Beffica's hut usually was.

"Other paw," she said, and Floofty did as asked, looking at the claws on the paw she'd finished up with.

The work she did was... good. Even though their claws were still lengthy, they were neat, now, smooth where they had once been rough and rigid.

Floofty hummed, pleased.

"See? Not so bad." Beffica said.

"I suppose not." 

Floofty looked up from their examination and became interested in Beffica's actions. 

The file was stamped with a pattern of diagonal lines, evenly spaced, making it ideally abrasive for wearing away the overgrowth. The strokes Beffica made were surprisingly slow and delicate, much more meticulous than Floofty had been with the stone. Her brow was knitted, her eyes flicking back and forth across their claw. She was solely focused on this, and nothing else. 

It was a look Floofty knew well. It was one they wore, when they were hunched over dissection tables, or studying the occupants of petri dishes under a microscope. Pure concentration, pure focus.

It was surprising to see from Beffica, Floofty thought.

"Do you usually take such bad care of these?" she asked.

The momentary appreciation vanished. Floofty frowned, and Beffica snickered.

"On the contrary. I assure you that I maintain my appearance daily, and that I consider myself to be in optimal aesthetic condition."

"Like that dirt on your cheek?"

"Precisely."

Beffica scoffed, shaking her head. The file clattered around in the box as she tossed it back in, and grabbed the trimmer.

"Do you always use big words like that, or is it a schtick? I mean, it's a good one. It's driving Wambus up the grumping wall."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he mumbles about it. Loose lipped."

"Years of one's primary social circle being plants would do that."

"Ohhh my god," Beffica crossed her legs as she grabbed the trimmer, "did I tell you? Like, last week, right, Gramble was throwing that fit- you remember- said Wambus was stealing his bugsnax. He made this biiiig fuss about him taking one of a little pair of Strabbies, like, he was all like-"

Beffica pitched her voice frantic and whiny and threw on a terrible accent, "They're siblings! They were born together, they can't be separated! They need each other! And Wambus was like-" She pitched her voice down, "Was like, I didn't do nothin', I'll keep a look out for whoever done it, I promise, Gramble."

"Was that what that fuss was all about?" Floofty asked. They knew what she was talking about, had heard distant yelling but was too occupied at the time to investigate further.

"Yeah! And so- okay-" 

Beffica paused, a sharp clip occupying the air as she made her first trim.

"So last night, right, I'm coming back from the outhouse, and I like, hear some rustling, right?"

"Right."

"And I look out over Gramble's way and who do I see but Wambus, slipping into the barn. And what's he got when he comes back out?" she smiled wryly, "A bugsnak. He pockets it and slips back into his house, just like that."

Floofty took a moment to process this, and then they laughed.

"He'll keep an eye out, he says!"

"YEAH!"

"Grump's sake," they shook their head, "what a sorry state of affairs. It's Gramble's own fault. That pen of snax is like a steak in front of a dog. What does he expect?"

"Like, they're his pets or whatever, but also they're delicious? He could like, share a few, it wouldn't kill him!"

"On the contrary. Perhaps Wambus would want to kill him less."

Beffica laughed and Floofty grinned.

As Beffica had prattled, she'd been clipping Floofty's claws. She finished their right paw, reached over and took the left without asking for it. 

And once again they were mesmerized by the way she worked. Spreading each of their digits out, turning their paw this way and that, calculating each cut before she made it. Their paws were evenly trimmed, and looked neat, and healthy.

Her paws were small in comparison to theirs. Her fur was shampooed and brushed smooth and her paw-pads, too, were soft and unscatched. There was not a mark, or sun spot, or even a scar. One of those bottles in Beffica's box had to be some kind of cream or lotion. Floofty wondered if they could ask for some, but quickly dismissed the thought. She'd probably ask for something else in return. Besides, they were on a deserted island. Soft paws were frivolous.

Whatever it was, though, she smelled like it. She smelled like a personal care aisle at a supermarket, all the fragrances of all her products mixing into one another. And something sun-drenched, as everything on Snaktooth smelled, or maybe it was just the sunscreen that she applied to her nose before she went out. Probably something cosmetic with a horrible SPF. But perhaps she was smarter than that.

Unlikely, but possible.

"You're very skilled at this." Floofty said.

She smiled absently, still focused on their paw. Floofty realized how close their faces were to each other's, even when looking down.

"Thanks. It's like, super important. You feel good when you look good, y'know?"

Floofty nodded. Beffica, they assumed, had been sprucing herself up for years. Experience equalled skill. But she went on after another trim.

"My mom, like, back in our hometown, she ran a salon. I grew up there."

"I see. Did she teach you?"

"I learned by watching." Another trim, "She taught me a lot. I helped out when I was older too."

Floofty nodded, understanding for a moment, "My mother taught me the scientific method. And light quantum theory."

“The what?”  
“A scientific theorem which suggests that light is made up of individual particles rather than a continuous stream of energy.”  
Beffica was quiet.

“It means light is a bunch of tiny particles rather than a singular liquid.”  
“Oh. Ohhh.” Beffica nodded, but Floofty didn’t know if she really understood, “So she was, like, a doctor or something?”  
“A physicist.”

Beffica laughed, "Right, that checks out.”

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, y'know. Explains why you're like that. All science-y and smart."

"I could say likewise. Though, the opposite of the last point."

That got her to stop smiling. Beffica pursed her lips. Then, shaped them into a little "o", and blew gently on Floofty's paw.

"You're done." she said.

Floofty took their paw back, flexing both. "I suppose I should thank you."

"You'll be thanking me," she said, packing her box back up. She looked up as Floofty stood. They stared at each other, neither really sure what to say.

“Uh. Have a nice day.”

“Likewise.”

Floofty turned and left.

As they strolled back to the research tent, they wondered what Beffica meant. They knew she was going to ask for something, but they didn't know what it would be. One of their research specimens, perhaps, to eat. Perhaps information on one of the others. Or she was swaying herself into their good graces, as she surely was for a number of grumpuses, tallying a list of favors and debts to collect on later.

She wasn't a saint. It was transactional, Floofty reminded themself, as they settled into their desk. They needed something she was willing to give. She was going to be repaid later.

But it- almost- felt as if there had been something there. The smiles and laughter, the conversation they exchanged. Logically, they knew it meant nothing. But it had felt good to share their observations with someone else. 

Floofty stared at their paws. Neater and more cared for than they'd been in months, though their paw-pads were still coarse and worn from work. 

They thought about Beffica, again. Floofty realized that that had been the first time, in a long time, they'd let someone else touch their paws.

They started work- transcription of hastily scribbled field notes into something presentable. They picked up their pencil, already dreading the sore paws that would come from long hours of holding it.

But, even after several lengthy and wordy pages, their paws were not sore at all.

**Author's Note:**

> take a shot for every time i used the word "paw" or "claw". actually, probably don't. thanks for reading!


End file.
